


wasteland, baby

by sevensevan



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, F/F, Religious Conflict, existential fluff, post apocalyptic lesbians bicker softly about religion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 14:03:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17982476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevensevan/pseuds/sevensevan
Summary: They find a church in Georgia, on the Buffy's-lost-track day after the end of the world.





	wasteland, baby

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by hozier's new album and his absolutely impeccable blend of religion, tenderness, and desolation, and enabled by my tumblr followers who seemed to want it. this is just existential rambling in a very unspecific apocalyptic setting, but hey, if that's your jam, i would appreciate a read.

They find the church on their way to Atlanta.

They hadn’t meant to swing so far south, but it had been fall when they’d left Boston, and wandering west in the snow and rain of New England hadn’t appealed in the slightest to either of them. So instead, Faith had hot-wired a Jeep, Buffy had stolen a bunch of CDs from an emaciated Walmart, and they’d headed south on an empty freeway, theirs the only engine roaring for hundreds of miles around them.

They come across the church on foot. They’re passing through a small town, scavenging for food, clothes, batteries, gas cans, anything else they can use. The whole town is empty, plates still out on tables, grass pushing up through the concrete. Some of the light switches are still up in the _on_ position, though the electricity that fed the bulbs has long since disappeared.

They wander into the church together. The building, in all likelihood, isn’t that old, but it’s built to appear as such: thick wooden beams, polished pews (now covered in a thick layer of dust), peeling paint. Buffy hears something in the pews when they walk in, the skittering of rodent paws on floorboards. They’re holding hands, almost unconsciously, as they often do: keeping track of each other in a world so empty it feels like it might swallow the both of them whole.

“Damn,” Faith says, staring up at the crucifix at the front of the church. It, too, is covered in a layer of dust; the blood painted on Jesus’s hands has turned an off-grey color.

“Nice place,” Buffy says, twining her fingers through Faith’s. Their voices echo through the building, and Buffy can picture this place _before_ : full of people, grandparents and their grandchildren, ten-year-old boys picking at their ties, old women in hats, some preacher yelling about hell or God or whatever. Buffy had only ever been to church a few times, and never anywhere people really believed.

“It’s a church,” Faith says. “How nice can it be?” Buffy looks over at her, frowning.

“That’s a little disrespectful,” she says. “People probably loved this place.”

“People aren’t here anymore,” Faith says. “People aren’t _anywhere_ anymore, in case you missed it.”

“But it still means something,” Buffy says.

“To who?” Faith turns and looks at her, eyes piercing. “To God?” Buffy is uncomfortable in Faith’s gaze for the first time in a long time, her skin getting hot.

“Maybe,” she says. Faith sighs and looks away. She lets go of Buffy’s hand, wandering farther into the church, and Buffy follows her.

There’s a piano, off to the right, and Faith walks over to it, keeping her head down and avoiding looking at the crucifix like she’s a vampire—which she isn’t, of course, because the vampires went with everyone else. Too close to human, too much _soul_ in them still, to stay.

Faith runs her hand over the lid of the keys, leaving trails in the dust. Buffy leans against a pew and watches, content to stand in silence. They have all the time in the world, after all.

Taking a deep breath, Faith lifts the lid and sits down at the bench. She runs her hands over the keys—untouched by the dust that covers every other human thing in this world, the white still shining ivory white, the black still indelibly smooth and dark—closes her eyes, and begins to play.

Buffy doesn’t recognize the tune. To her ear, it’s something classical, but to her ear, everything on a piano that isn’t jazz, pop, or rock is classical. She doesn’t worry over it. Instead, she stands there, watching and listening. Faith moves like she’s possessed, her movements jerky and rigid, but with that intangible  _grace_ that Faith always has. Part of it comes from Slayerdom, but part of it is just _Faith_.

Eventually, the song comes to an end. Faith lets the last notes ring out before she lowers her hands from the keys and rests them on the bench on either side of her. Buffy almost claps, but the moment doesn’t call for it. Buffy doesn’t know when the church last heard music, but she wants it to keep the song, not the harsh sounds of applause. Instead, Buffy walks over to the bench. She slips her arms around Faith’s shoulders, resting her chin on the top of Faith’s head.

“That was beautiful,” she says, trying not to break the quiet.

“I used to take lessons,” Faith says, just as softly. “On and off. My mom would make me whenever she had extra money and felt particularly shitty about her parenting.”

“ _Faith_.” Buffy can feel a grin tugging at her lips, and she’s glad Faith can’t see her face, though she’s sure she can imagine it. “You can’t swear. We’re in a church.”

“Oh, fuck, sorry.” Buffy kisses the top of Faith’s head, and the moment stretches. It’s irrational, but Buffy swears she can still hear the song echoing against the walls.

“We should go,” Buffy says eventually. She lets go of Faith and steps back. Faith stands, stretches, and reaches for Buffy’s hand, ready to leave. Buffy pauses for a moment, reaching out and closing the lid on the keys, sending up a small cloud of dust from the lid as she does so.

“Keeping them clean for the next person?” Faith asks, amused. Buffy takes her hand, and they start to walk back towards the door of the church, which they had left open. They’ve been in here longer than Buffy had thought; the sun is going down. They need to get back to the Jeep and move on. They’ve already found everything useful in this town, and even if they haven’t, they’ll have everything they could need once they get to Atlanta.

“I’m just trying to be respectful,” Buffy says.

“But it doesn’t matter,” Faith says. “This stuff—“ she waves behind them at the church as they reach the door. “—it has power because people believe in it. There’s no one left to believe.” Buffy doesn’t answer. “B, if there was a God, he’d give us—I don’t know. He’d give us _something_. Someone to talk to. Some kind of explanation. Interdimensional ham radio or something.”

“Maybe,” Buffy says. “But it’s not about God. It’s about—that church, that’s there because people believed in something. We have to give that some kind of respect, don’t we?”

“People believe in a lot of shitty things.” Faith’s voice is dark, and Buffy squeezes her hand reassuringly.

“Not anymore, they don’t,” she points out, which makes Faith laugh just a bit. “Maybe it’s not a good belief. I don’t know. But either way, that church was built because people cared about it. If we don’t treat it with respect, who will?” Faith says nothing. “Why’d you play that piano, Faith?” Buffy asks, already knowing the answer.

“Because—I don’t know.” Faith shrugs. “I guess I felt like…like it deserved it. There should be music there again, at least one more time.” Buffy smiles at her. Faith rolls her eyes and bumps their shoulders together. “Don’t make a thing out of it,” she says.

“No promises,” Buffy says.

When they get back to the Jeep, Faith flips aimlessly through radio channels, one after another after another, every single one producing nothing but white noise. Buffy swears she can hear a piano beneath the static, slightly out-of-tune keys rushing on and on, threading together even as Faith spins the tuning dial. Music forming out of nothingness.

**Author's Note:**

> if you liked this, check out my other fuffy fic, [shadow of the day](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17627543/chapters/41561834), which has not only way more words but also an actual plot! i'm on tumblr @daisys-quake and on twitter @thoughtsintoink; feel free to hit me up! leave a comment and kudos if you enjoyed. literally leave a comment about hozier's album if you want, because i would love to talk about it. thanks for reading!


End file.
